


I Caught the Hand You Extended

by Rynfinity



Series: The March of the Damned [25]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Human, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Sibling Incest, Substance Abuse, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-08
Updated: 2015-01-13
Packaged: 2018-03-06 15:44:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3139802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rynfinity/pseuds/Rynfinity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm sorry.  For taking most of your Thursday and Friday," Loki elaborates when she doesn't comment.  "That was- it was nice of you."</p><p>Dr. Riley nods.  "I would say <i>any time</i>," she kids him, "but I'm probably safest sticking with <i>you're welcome</i>."</p><p> </p><p>This is a direct sequel to <i>All this Climbing Makes Everyone Tired</i> and will make the most sense read after its predecessors. </p><p>This story takes place in the same AU and timeframe as <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/2440193/chapters/5405249">Sharing </a> from <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/series/104813">Out of the Mouths of Babes</a>; unlike the Babes stories, this one is told from Loki's point of view.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Dr. Riley and Loki catch up.

Loki hovers in the hallway just outside her open door for close to three minutes, shifting his weight awkwardly from one foot to the other. Back and forth, back and forth he rocks in a jagged dance that lacks any sort of rhythm. He can’t quite do it, though; he can’t make himself walk in and sit down.

Back.

Forth.

Finally he gives up, pulls his hands out of his pockets, and _knocks_ … which he hasn't- hasn’t done since he was _new here_.

"Come on in. Just let me finish this last sentence,” she says, hands still moving over her keyboard, “and I'll- be- right- there." Dr. Riley is over at her desk in the far corner of the office, typing away at a computer he's never really noticed before. "Sorry," she says, closing its lid and standing. "One single, solitary day out of this place and I am completely buried."

She grabs a big mug of something and sits in her normal chair, both feet tucked up underneath her. She smiles at him as he slumps into the chair directly across from her, his shoulders hovering way up around his ears. He’s barely settled when she does an anxious double-take; she leans forward and swings a foot down, all the while peering at him strangely. "What's up with that," she asks. Her voice is sharper; she sounds- almost angry.

"Huh?" Loki has no idea what he’s done. He’s been back on his normal regimen for nearly a week now - longer, if he thinks about it, than he was even off the stuff - but he's still feeling _screwed up_. Foggy. "With what?"

Dr. Riley frowns. "Your face." When he sits there dumb and frozen she touches her cheekbone and points. "That bruise."

_Oh. OH._ He brushes two fingers lightly against his own face and barks out a short, uncomfortable laugh. "I don't think you really want to know," he tells her. These sorts of conversations normally make him brazen, not embarrassed, but today he can feel his chest and neck flushing all the way up into his cheeks. "But I’m pretty sure it's not what you're thinking."

"Did Thor hit you," she asks outright. She’s tense, coiled like a snake. "Because he _knows_ we've made a zero-tolerance agree-."

"No, no," Loki cuts in. "It’s nothing like that. He was using that spot as- as a handle. While- while- you know- he _fucked my mouth_ ," he finally blurts out. "After I asked him to. It was nothing bad," he insists. "I was just bored. He wanted to watch some stupid movie."

Dr. Riley still looks- skeptical. Unconvinced. "Did he punish you at all?"

" _NO_ ," Loki stresses. Her reaction probably shouldn’t be surprising but – for once – it’s unfounded. "He was really nice,” he tells her. “Sweet, worried, understanding." He shrugs. "It was Saturday evening, and he figured we should stay in. Nothing bad," he reiterates, "not at all. He brought me home and washed me and put me - put _us_ \- to bed. Later on..." He shrugs again. "I wanted something a little more edgy. And then afterwards he cleaned me up and put me to bed again," he tells her, laughing quietly. "No fight, no nothing."

"And what about the rest of the weekend?"

"Sledding, eating, fucking, serious conversations about bad choices," he lists off. "In no particular order. It was good. Seriously." It was. He means it. They could use more weekends like this past one, obviously less the ED visit.

Dr. Riley pulls her dangling foot up and relaxes back into her chair. "Okay, okay," she says, finally. "You've convinced me. How are you feeling?"

He sighs. This part isn’t as clear. "Foggy. Dull. Worse than the first time, I think."

"The first time, you were in a different place," she reminds him. "I think you will feel a little more normal a week from now, when you've had time to adjust and your guts are done revolting." He smirks at that last bit; it's sadly all too true. "And if not," she assures him, "we can tweak things again."

"I'm sure it will be fine," he tells- himself, really. "I'm just being a brat."

"Being a grown-up sucks sometimes," she reminds him, and they both smile this time. "But it's usually worth the trade-offs."

She's right: it is.

They run down the requisite, if endless-seeming, list of status checks... is he feeling suicidal, is he having intrusive and disturbing thoughts, is he stiff or in unexplained pain, does he want to hurt anyone, and so on. Loki is trying to be honest, so there are a few scattered yes votes woven in amongst the noes. It’s nothing major, though, and Dr. Riley lets most of it go unchallenged. She asks more questions. He yawns and wriggles and shifts around.

Rinse, repeat.

Not his favorite way to spend a session, for sure, but he _does_ get that she's- well, just doing her job.

At long, long last it's over. "Is there anything you want to add," she asks him, "before we run out of time?" She doesn't normally hurry him out the door at the end of his sessions, but they really are done and – with yesterday off and Friday all messed up - she's got to be overbooked like crazy.

Loki tries very hard not to take it personally. "Yeah," he says, and then coughs into his elbow. "I'm sorry. For taking most of your Thursday and Friday," he elaborates when she doesn't comment. "That was- it was nice of you."

She nods. "I would say _any time_ ," she kids him, "but I'm probably safest sticking with _you're welcome_."

Just inside the doorway Loki pauses. “I told Thor I would try harder next time,” he confesses. “That, if I started to feel like I needed to make changes, I would tell someone. Not him; just someone.”

Dr. Riley stops halfway back to her desk and twists to look back at him. “And how do you feel about that, now that you’ve gotten some distance from it?”

Loki shivers. “Afraid,” he admits. “Because something like this is bound to happen again and- and I’m not sure if I can deliver. I’m good at letting people down. At letting _Thor_ down.”

She chews her lip. “This probably sounds like a lie to you,” she tells him, “but it’s very common to feel that way. And it’s _okay_ to feel it, of course,” she adds as he makes a wry face.

“Feelings are just feelings,” Loki parrots, “after all.” Dr. Riley cocks an eyebrow, and he laughs.

“We’ll work on it,” she says as he turns to go. “It’s not an easy thing, but you don’t have to get it right tomorrow, you know? There really isn’t anything wrong with being a work in progress.”

He’s not sure most (right, right, _any_ ) of the people in his life would agree with her, but Loki lets that part slide. “Okay,” he says, not quite certain why it’s so hard to leave this room today, “fair enough. We can work on it.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sif and Steve have news... Loki has a mini-breakdown.
> 
> It's all in a day's work.
> 
>  
> 
> Warning for very abstract suicidal ideation...

_Holy fuck. Holy fucking fuck_. He's known this was coming - just _known_ it with that same heavy sense of inevitability that applies most often to- well, _death_ \- and yet it still punches all the air right out of his lungs.

_Holy fuck_.

It's probably only been half a second but it feels like forever and the three of them are all staring at him expectantly. They're looking for something, anything; for more than the half-squawked _seriously?!_ that's all he's come up with so far.

_Stop_ , he orders himself. _Say something. Something civilized_. Loki swallows and forces himself to peel his hands away from his own mouth. And this only after (of course – he’s crazy, not stupid) he _shuts_ his (gaping) mouth in quick preparation for smiling and nodding and otherwise reacting more appropriately. “Shit," he huffs, and that wasn't quite where he meant to go either. "That was rude of me," he does finally manage, and that’s at least marginally better. "Congratulations!”

“Thanks a _lot_ , Loki,” Sif jabs. Her smile is warm, though, and she hugs him back fiercely as he throws both arms (and his dangling poles) around her. She's up on her tiptoes, teetering in her snowshoes, and when she whispers "you okay?" almost silently into his hat - into the part that keeps his own ears warm, below the pointy little cat ears that are just for show – he loves her.

He nods. He's okay and yet he isn't - there is so much going on inside of him right now that he may blow up like a defective rocket right here on the launchpad - but none of that has anything to do with her. Not really. He shouldn’t take it out on her, or on Steve. "Mm," he hums (into her hair; unlike him she's only wearing a fleecy headband), “but thank you.”

Thor comes barreling through and elbows Loki aside, almost knocking them both over.

“Wait wait,” Steve interjects as Sif and Loki cling to one another and wobble. “There’s more. You know this by now, but the two of you are really what we consider our family," Steve tells the both of them. "We just want to do a little private thing, and we’re hoping you’ll stand up for us. You don’t have to tell us now,” he adds. He's gesturing frantically and his voice is crazy tight; it hits Loki out of nowhere (no, out of Mount Feelings) that the poor guy is a mess too. “Just promise us you’ll think about it."

Loki shuffles, trying to turn away from Sif without toppling. Thor, of course, is faster. “We’ll think about it,” he promises, rich and friendly, “and let you know.”

_Let you know?!_ Loki doesn't want to wait. He wants to shriek like a girl and hug them until they can't breathe. He wants to drag them back to his favorite _toy store_ , the place right next to the snowshoe rental, and let Sif pick out Steve's perfect collar. He wants to eat _the best_ cake and wear makeup and fling confetti into the wind.

He wants to collapse in a sobbing heap and freeze to death right here by the pond because no matter what happens this will never be him.

He wants to slit his wrists and watch the blood stream red and steaming into the snow, his hearing slowly fading to nothing as everyone screams _Loki, no_ and _we'll never leave you._

But, (almost) more than everything, Loki wants Siffy to find real happiness. So, he knows he has to stop this shit. He shuts his eyes and tries – through sheer force of will – to fly up out of the void he’s falling into. _You can do this_ , he reminds himself. _You can. These people love you._

Steve lets out a giant _whew_ of a sigh that snaps Loki back to reality. Just in time, probably. “You have no idea how scared I’ve been about telling you,” Steve tells them both. He sounds as anxious – if perhaps not as _completely freaked_ \- as Loki. “Thank you for taking it so graciously.”

“Don’t be silly,” Loki exclaims. He puts his absolute best composed, cheerful face on and pivot-hops to face his brother. Thor still looks a bit poleaxed, which should be depressing but is actually reassuring. Loki leans on his poles and twists to look from Thor to Steve and back again. “We want the best for you. Don’t we, Thor?”

“Absolutely!” Thor beams. Under it all he looks a bit like he might be sick, and that _is_ depressing. Loki has to look away.

There is way, way, way too much going on here. His brother’s ex-girlfriend, who is also their forever childhood friend and Loki’s level-headed fucking savior, has turned into a responsible grown-up and is _getting married_. Of course, if Loki really thinks about it she has been _all adult and shit_ for years and years – she has a grown-up job and she’s clawed her way up from nothing without taking any more help than she’s turned right around and given out in return… but this is _not the same_. This is Sif and Steve going off to form a private world of their own, a world that has no room for Loki.

Whereas he’s stuck mooning after his own stupid brother, because _that’s_ going to get him into grown-up heaven. Yeah, exactly. _That’s_ going to get him heartbroken and arrested and locked up forever. After all, going out that way is his goddamned birthright.

_Just ask fucking Odin._

Sif claps her hands together. Loki shakes his head, cat ears bobbing and tassels flying. _This shit gets you nowhere_ , he reminds himself. He’s so brittle standing here in this cold that one wrong touch will shatter him into a million pieces. _Sif. This is about Sif. Pay attention_. “Well, now that we have THAT out of the way,” she says to the three of them before turning to look up towards the picnic grounds. “What do you say we climb this hill?”

Loki covers his groan of- relief, or perhaps horror, in a groan of _oh my god I will never get up that thing alive._ From down here by the pond the long slope up to the road looks insurmountable. “One foot in front of the other,” he reminds Thor haughtily as he lifts his snowshoes and waggles each of his own feet in turn.

“You go first,” Thor teases. “Watching your ass will keep me going.”

“Ahhh,” Loki yells. “Hush! There are old married people listening.”

Sif crouches and springs and Loki gets a faceful of snow. “You’re not as funny as you think you are,” she warns him, but then she pulls him close. “And I know you’re not okay, baby,” she whispers. “Is there anything I can do?”

_Never leave me?_ He knows he can’t say that. Not to her, not to anybody. Not even to Thor. He wriggles free and sprints for the hill instead, moving as fast as his legs and arms will take him. When he winds himself horribly and has to stop – to hang over his poles and gasp and cough – it’s okay. He’s not crying, after all; it’s just that the cold has his eyes watering.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts don't always behave predictably.

Dinner itself works out better than expected.

The chili is hot and rich and eye-wateringly spicy. Steve makes _it burns_ jokes and officially outs himself as the über-nerd Loki would never have guessed him to be.

It’s impressive, actually, on top of being utterly unexpected. Loki makes a mental note to himself: he needs to get to know the guy better.

Sif keeps reaching across the table to pat Loki's hand, even though he swears he's fine.

No one breathes another word about anyone getting married.

"Fuuuuuck," Thor breathes as he finishes his bowl. His spoon clatters against his plate. "I forgot to correct for the lack of beer."

Loki steals a look at his brother. Thor is flushed and sweating and grinning like nothing's out of the ordinary; like this has simply been any other day. Loki ducks his head as Thor catches him watching; his brother hooks him by the chin and leans in for a fiery kiss.

"How can you even stand to _do_ that," Sif asks. "My lips hurt just watching you."

Loki laughs against his brother’s cheekbone. "Oh, it's worth it," he tells her. "I guess he's gotten better at it since high school?"

Sif throws her head back and howls with laughter. "I think, when it comes to you, he just tries harder."

"Oh yes," Loki teases, licking his (burning) lips. "I can never fault him for a lack of effort." All this kidding around is helping; he feels more like himself again. More _grounded_. "I think you did okay in the long run, though," he dares to tell her with a nod towards Steve. "Nice. Good-looking. Fit. Seems to wash regularly." Loki grins. “And, as we learned a few minutes ago, smarter than it looks, too.”

Thor leans over and crowds Loki against the side of the booth. "Give it a rest," he orders, but he's laughing too. "He's taken. Off the market, even."

"And straight," Loki points out. He scoops up another big bite of chili and waggles his eyebrows suggestively. "Although if anyone could turn him, it would be-."

Thor leans enough of his weight into Loki that it's hard to breathe. They're all laughing. Well, except Loki, who kind of can’t now.

Good times, just like old times.

Okay, yeah, maybe not.

~

"Pretty exciting," Loki tries on the walk home. Thor stiffens, though, and he immediately regrets it. "And snowshoeing is more fun than I expected," he covers.

"It _is_ fun," Thor agrees, squeezing Loki's fingers. "We should do it again sometime."

They walk in silence for several blocks. Loki dies a little more with every step. _Sif is getting married._ Steve has a forever home. It's not even something he'd known he cared about... except it seems he does. But the whole line of thought is just plain ridiculous to start with; he doesn't even _want_ to settle down.

Or something.

~

_It's a beautiful day. Sunny, but not uncomfortably warm, and there's enough breeze to qualify as pleasant without crossing the line into windy. The early roses are just starting to bloom, their blossoms all fresh, delicate pinks and creams. The arbor above his head is green with wild grapes and thick tangles of wisteria._

_Loki looks around, along the lawns and then down to the water. No one is here yet; it's just him, alone with all this pretty scenery. He walks the length of the arbor, trailing his fingers lightly over the delicate leaves and petals. He watches his own hand for a moment; his nails are glossy, a pale pearlescent dove grey that almost perfectly matches his silk suit. Loki looks good, he knows he does, but it isn't for him... it's for Thor._

_He turns to look down the gently slope again. The pond's surface ripples and sparkles. Gentle puffs of wind break its surface into thousands of tiny, bubbling wavelets, each of which catches the sun._

_For once, Loki finds, he’s able to stand and gaze out over the water without wondering how uncomfortable drowning in its murky depths might be._

_From the far end of the arbor he can hear voices: The judge walks slowly across the sloping lawn, talking animatedly with Dr. Riley. They look up together and spot Loki, who waves; Dr. Riley smiles. "How are you holding up," she asks him. "You look amazing."_

_He smiles back, warmly. She looks nice, too, in a gauzy tunic, leggings, and a fancier version of her trademark boots. "I'm okay," he tells her, and he is. "How could I not be? I've waited my whole life for this, you know?"_

_The judge flips through a folder, frowning slightly. "Do you need one last chance to practice, sir," he asks, holding out a thick sheet of paper printed with Loki's vows. "We have a few minutes left."_

_"I'm good," Loki assures him. "Honestly, I just want to get this over with."_

_~_

_As people start to assemble - Sif and Steve, Keisha, Darcy, a few men and women he doesn't know who (at least based on the way they clump together and look a little uncomfortable among the old guard) must be work friends of Thor's - Loki slips away again to hide from view in the shadowy dimness behind the arbor. He'd spent the past night at Sif and Steve's, just in case; while he doesn’t give much (any?) weight to superstition, he’s found himself taking extra precautions “just in case.”_

_Anything within his power that might help this succeed, anything at all, Loki has found himself wanting to be doing._

_~_

_Greg tracks Loki down behind the arbor. It’s okay; Greg is standing up for him, as the first person who really believed he could be someone (besides which, that frees Sif to stand up for Thor... and who else could, when it comes right down to it?). The two of them stand – quietly, companionably - together in the shade as the music starts. "I'll see you down there," Greg tells him, turning to go. Loki smiles and nods._

_He wouldn't miss this for the world. For the universe, in its awesome entirety._

_~_

_At long, long last Thor makes his own way down the hill. His dark, rich blue suit and deep red tie glow in the sun. His hair (as is Loki's) is caught up in an artfully messy bun; a few loose strands framing his face catch the breeze._

_Sif hugs him. Greg shakes his hand. Loki watches, scarcely able to believe this is about to happen._

_The music changes. The (small) assembled crowd scrambles to its feet and all of a sudden the moment is upon him. It’s his turn._

_As Loki starts down the slope and walks among their friends, everyone nods and smiles. He barely sees them; he has eyes only for his brother._

_“I love you,” Thor whispers into his hair as he gives Loki a quick hug._

_Loki is too overwhelmed just now to trust his voice; he squeezes back and hopes the gesture comes across as “I love you, too.”_

_~_

_Their vows pass by in a bit of a blur. Towards the end of the ceremony, as his brother slips the heavy gold ring on his finger and the big emerald at its center catches the light, he can feel hot tears (of happiness, for once, and it’s no small thing that he recognizes it now) building behind his lashes. Loki splits the difference between smiling through them and blinking them away._

_After the two of them kiss – and it’s a spectacular, lingering kiss, the kind that has everyone clapping and cheering – Thor pulls him close again. “You mean everything to me,” his brother says, for him alone. “I’m so glad you were willing to have me.”_

_Loki tucks his face into his brother’s neck, trying to be at least marginally mindful of his own eye makeup. “And you, to me,” he assures Thor. They’re in this together, in every possible way, until the very end of time._

_He laces his fingers into his brother’s and together they turn to face their friends. “We made it,” Loki whispers. “Believe it or not, we made it.”_

_Together, now and forever, they start the long, slow climb back up out of the grassy bowl, past the arbor and on to the waiting limo that’s going to take them to the reception, such as it were. Really, it’s just going to be a nice dinner - for everyone - at that place near the apartment; the one they usually skip because they don't feel like dressing up._

_Today? Today that won't be a problem._

_The photographer goes for a shot of them grinning as they make their way up the hill. She's using flash to counteract the harshness of the sunlight, and Loki is momentarily blinded. He flinches away, startled-_.

~

-and struggles to sit up, trapped by something heavy, blinking and disoriented. He thrashes his way free of- _oh_. It's the covers. Blanket, comforter in the silky grey duvet cover he likes best, worn-soft linen sheets.

He's in _bed_ , just like always. No wedding, no reception, no ring, no forever. Fuck. None of it actually happened. None of it ever _will_ happen, no matter he might want it to. No matter how much admitting that hurts.

And it _does_ hurt. Until today, Loki had never even guessed he wanted this; now he can't fucking let it go.

Beside him Thor shifts, snuffling quietly and flinging the lumpy folds of the comforter off one muscled arm. Loki lies back down as carefully as possible; he doesn't want to wake his brother, doesn't want to talk about this.

No... he just wants to _forget_ it.

Yeah.

Right.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thor spills the beans and Loki... isn't an awesome bean collector.
> 
> Otherwise known as: Loki's head is a mess and he _does_ care who knows it this time.

Loki plops himself down on Ginny’s sofa next to Thor, bouncing a little. The dream he’d had a few days ago – yes, _that_ dream, the one where he and Thor had gotten everyone together on a fine early summer’s day and sworn themselves to one another for all eternity – has rattled around in his head all week, to the point where he has an awful lot of extra energy, but he’s manned up and talked it through a few times with Dr. Riley.

When he’d gotten to describing the crowd, she’d laughed about her dream outfit; apparently she _actually has_ not just but one but every single article of clothing Loki’s unconscious had churned up for her, even though he’s likely never seen them.

Whatever. Loki doesn’t believe in omens; therefore, this can’t be one. Hah.

When he’d asked about discussing the whole thing with Thor, though, Dr. Riley had advised ( _and I know this isn’t what you want to hear, Loki_ ) that he wait a bit. Not so much to follow Thor’s lead, she’d told him – although, sure, there’s some of that – but really more to get a better idea how he himself feels about the whole topic over time. _Things like this – marriage, babies, divorce – can be contagious_ , she’d explained. _If you do want to make your relationship permanent, in whatever way works best for you, I’ll do my best to help you through it. But I want you to be sure_ , she’d insisted, face serious, _that it’s actually what you want and not just something Sif and Steve made look good_.

She was right, of course. Was right, is right. Loki knows he has a rather long and ugly history of having trouble making up his mind and then sticking to it. He’s been doing much better with that recently, at least when he’s on his meds, but he is by nature a bit impulsive and this isn’t the sort of decision one should make that way. She was also right that he wasn’t thrilled to hear it. With considerable reluctance, he’d set his mental pot on his equally mental back burner and done his best to go on about his day. And the next, and the next.

He doesn’t bring it up at home, and he doesn’t drop hints and sulk and pout. He lets it settle. When he can comfortably think about weddings without his own head exploding, they can confirm that they’re taking part in Sif’s and Steve’s. Because they _are_ , after all; he knows it.

How could they not?

Consequently, he is shocked – no, he is fucking _astounded_ \- when the first thing that falls out of Thor’s mouth after Ginny asks how things are going is "Sif's getting married." Loki’s stunned fucking speechless, caught too far off guard to even get his mouth open. That, and he has (barely, true) enough presence of mind to know that if he lets the stupid thing open he will never get it shut again. Never. Just like Pandora and her fucking box.

"My friend Sif," Thor continues, voice shaking a little, while Loki sits there frantically silent. " _Our_ friend. The one we followed out here."

It’s about then Loki decides this story would go down better with a side of context. " _Our friend Sif_ who also used to be Thor's girlfriend," he reminds Ginny. It takes a lot to keep his own voice light and easy, to the point where he’s not sure he’s even pulled it off. He’s done better than his brother, though, and that’s what matters.

"Right," is all Ginny says. "In high school, wasn't it?"

Obviously nothing about this is news – Loki was _there_ , after all – but out of nowhere he’s feeling uncompromisingly bitter and quite a bit hurt. Here he was going on like a fucking idiot thinking _they_ could get married (if only they could, which of course they can’t, but that _isn’t_ the point. It isn’t) and his _brother_ is all broken up because _Sif_ is off the market. Awesome. He’s an idiot and Thor is an asshole. "Don't tell her I said this,” Loki offers, ”but it's all oddly interesting in retrospect". He leans forward, gossipy. Conspiratorial. "She has long black hair," he goes on, shaking out his own his own in case anyone is _not getting the point_ , "and muscles. Not exactly _girly_ , you know?" He waggles his eyebrows; wink-wink, nudge-nudge. "So all this has to be a little- weird," he points out, because it _is_. It’s a _lot_ weird.

"For whom," Ginny asks, and it’s too obvious to be accidental. Loki winces, hard.

"Thor," he emphasizes. "It all has to be weird _for Thor_."

Ginny nods. "Perhaps it is, and we'll let him tell us about it either way in a moment." That’s a slap, and it stings. She takes a moment to write something, while Loki tries to compose himself again without anyone noticing. "But what about you," she asks when she’s finished. "Is it a little weird for _you_ , Loki?"

That’s twice now in five minutes that he’s been caught so completely by surprise that his defenses have completely failed him. Loki tries and fails to say something, and then tries (and fails) again. In the end he gives up and buries his hot face in his hands. "Yes," he admits. He takes a deep breath and then sighs, loudly. "As much as I pretend it's not that way,” he explains, on the edge of tears now, “I feel like I'm a substitute for her. Nothing against Sif," he tacks on, sitting back up and doing his best to make sure _he_ sounds like a friend and _not_ like an asshole. "She's a great friend. I mean that." He does.

"Hah," Thor exclaims, and all Loki’s skin-crawling self-loathing flashes over into raw anger.

"Don't even start," he snaps. "She's a wonderful person and you know I love her. Like an _actual_ sister, not like some- like this freak-ass thing you and I have going."

"Loki, Thor," Ginny interrupts, not sounding pleased with either of them. Which is fine, because _Loki_ isn’t particularly fucking pleased either. "Let's take this one piece of a time. Before we make it into something it isn't," she adds, like it isn’t way too late for that already.

He isn’t ready to be done. Loki snarls at his brother; they glare hotly at one another. "Gentlemen," Ginny says, in a tone of voice that says she’s sick of their shit and they need to behave, _now_. It works, too; automatically, he blanks his face and turns to look at her.

"Okay," she says, shifting a little in her chair and adjusting her suit accordingly. Loki shoots Thor a(nother) quick glare; his brother is watching Ginny expectantly. And sure enough: "Thor," she says, "it sounded like you might not have agreed with something Loki said earlier." She checks her notes. "Do you remember what it was?"

"Yes," Thor says, and then sighs himself. "It sounded as though Loki thought I- I hooked up with him because he reminds me of Sif. Of _the one that got away_ or something. Even though he kind of tried to sell it backwards,” he goes on, which is not inaccurate but feels mean all the same, “playing up how she's not exactly ultra-feminine."

Ginny looks at Loki. "First answer,” she orders, “yes or no.”

"Yes," he whispers, bracing himself to flee.

"Thank you," she says. Her eyes flick down and back up as she takes in his body language. "That can't be easy to admit.” Loki shrugs; it is, and it isn’t.

“Thor,” Ginny prompts his brother, “was there more?"

"It was the other way around," Thor says after a short pause. His voice cracks; he sounds so much like _he’s_ going to cry that something in Loki fractures. "Sif knows it, even. I _liked_ her because she was Sif,” he goes on, sounding worse with every word instead of better, “but I dated her because she- she was the closest a socially-acceptable _girl_ had come to being Loki."

Loki lets out a whimper he’d sooner die than admit had snuck past his lips.

"I could never have admitted it at the time," Thor continues, "but that doesn't make it any less true."

_This? This is totally unexpected._ Loki can’t swear his brother has never told him this before – in fact, Thor probably has, because it’s the kind of confession his brother tends to make unnervingly easily – but it’s certainly never been so- so _raw_. So real. He clears his throat awkwardly, to force a break in the conversation (if you can even call it that). "And Jane," he asks Thor. It’s not his turn, and he realizes that, but he- he _needs to know_. He needs to know _now_ , not when Ginny happens to finally get to it.

Thor lets his head drop until he’s looking at the floor, and now he actually _is_ crying. Loki can feel himself starting to shake. "More of the same,” Thor says. “I steered away from the looks, because it felt too creepy, but I found a scientist who wore men's clothing and didn't give two shits about girly things." He snuffles. "It ended up being worse," he explains, "because she didn't have the history Sif had with my family." He’s crying harder now, enough that the tears pool beneath him on the floor. "With my brother," he adds, and Loki can’t help but shudder.

“Like anyone else,” Thor says, barely above a whisper now, “I learned all the way along that it was sick and bad and wrong to feel the way I did – the way I do – about _my brother_. But the simple truth,” he confesses, “is this: Loki is exactly what I’ve always wanted. Even the best of my other options came in a distant, distant second.” He snuffs again, loudly. “Excuse me. I- I’m just sorry I put so many people through a lot of needless suffering while I figured it out. Not least of all you,” he says, looking at Loki. “I love you, baby. It’s always been you,” Thor adds and Loki can feel himself breaking into a million jagged little pieces. “This is only weird and upsetting because- because Siffy can get married and- and I want to but- but our stupid-ass _society_ says we can’t.”

_Holy shit._ Just holy shit. Loki sucks in a tiny little gasp. _It can’t be true_. It can’t. His brother _has_ to be playing him. Or else Thor is simply too dense to realize what’s just happened.

Sure enough, Thor covers his own face. “Fuck,” he groans, “I’m so sorry.”

The latter, then. Loki dies a little (more) inside. Not, of course, that the former would really be any better. “Well,” he says drily after a long, long silence. “I can’t say _that_ was the proposal of my dreams somehow.”

Thor collapses face down to lie slumped across his own legs. “I’m such an ass,” he mutters. “Can I just try this entire discussion over?”

_Oh no you don’t_.

“Don’t be thinking you can just take it back,” Loki snaps, cutting Ginny off in the process and not fucking caring. “I’ll always know you said it.”

He grits his teeth, waiting defiantly for his brother to rip him a new one.

“I don’t _want_ to take it back,” Thor howls. “For god’s sake, stop already,” he goes on, still yelling. “I just- I only- I want to do it right. I want to do it _better_.”

_Oh._ Holy shit again, but differently.

This time Loki’s mouth _does_ hang open. He’s so stunned he’s not sure he’ll _ever_ be able to shut it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loki sorts through a few things, the good way.

First thing in the morning - after the obligatory check-in Loki half-jokingly calls _homeroom_ ; for real, it's alphabetical by last name and everything - he has a long, long block of studio time. Double art, thanks to a glitch in Dr. Riley's morning schedule.

He has never needed it more.

Loki spends the first hour at the wheel, trying his damnedest not to _think_ as the wet clay sluices through his fingers. In the first few minutes he's already added so much slip that the once-too-solid lump he'd started with is barely holding together; he tries for a vase and ends up with- Medusa. A tangle of worms. Maggots.

Okay, no, not helping.

He stops the wheel and works another good-sized block of clay into the utter mess he's made of the first one. Knead, squish, fold, over and over, until it’s _much better_. The clay is still beautifully slippery, its cool, slick surface texture reminiscent of the finest-grade mud imaginable, but it has some structural integrity again and he's actually able to throw it into something.

At the last moment he draws it up a little too far, pulling the sidewalls a little too thin; when he stops the wheel the upper portion of the would-be vase sags into delicate fabric-like folds Loki’s not sure he could have made (he couldn’t even have managed anything close) if he'd meant to. It's actually pretty, in an odd way, and it probably has what Tyr likes to refer to as _artistic potential._

Loki carefully severs the thing from the wheel with a taut stretch of piano wire and transfers it to the drying rack. A few carefully-placed drizzles of what will be translucent olive-green glaze, followed by a few brushed on black runes at the base, and it's perfect.

He gets (suitably impressed, sure enough) Tyr to take a picture of it for him, in case it shatters during firing. The two of them share a private grin.

"More clay," Tyr asks once he's texted the picture to Loki's waiting phone, which is of course locked away for safekeeping (the phone's, or his own... Loki's never quite sure), "or are you off to wreak havoc among my pencils?"

"More clay," Loki says, decisively. This is no day for drawing. "But I'll clean up the wheel first... I think I want to hand-form a few things."

~

A few minutes later, with the pottery wheel a lot cleaner and his smock a lot dirtier (and wetter!), Loki curls up at the little workbench in the very back of the room and makes himself a series of small, paired figures. They're not really people, exactly. They're not really coins. What they _are_ , one pair after another, is carefully formed wholes which are then delicately cut apart. If the pieces don’t warp terribly during firing, they’ll fit neatly back together. He marks them lightly with the runes that grace his own arm and then glazes them very precisely: one of each pair is golden yellow, the other dark, dark brown.

"Those are cool," Tyr says, leaning over his shoulder. "You're on a roll today. Want a picture of them, too?"

He doesn't. "No," Loki huffs, only just in time remembering to tack the obligatory "but thanks” on the end. He swallows past his dry mouth. "It's a test," he says. “I can’t talk about it.”

"Let me guess," Tyr says, laughing. "There's no point in explaining, because couldn't understand it if I tried."

Loki swallows again. "No," he says, "You could. You would." Which is why he _isn't_ elaborating any further. It’s like wishes; if you talk about simple everyday magic, it loses its power. "Don't worry," he adds when Tyr leans around his shoulder to peer at him a bit strangely. "It's nothing." He shrugs. "Just a bunch of clay. Fire them up for me and we'll see how they do."

~

He shows up to Dr. Riley's office pruney-fingered and slathered halfway up his forearms in thick, half-absorbed hand cream. "Don't art in the winter," he advises with a smile, still rubbing the stuff in as she looks at him strangely. He holds up his gooey, smeared hands. "It's horribly drying. I'm going to have the cuticles of a scaly old demon."

Dr. Riley smiles in return. "I'll keep that in mind," she says. "From the elbows up, then, how are you?"

No point in beating around the bush. "Thor kind of asked me to marry him," he says, and then stops. It's the sort of thing that needs to just lie there. That, and he very much wants to see what she'll do.

She groans. "Loooooki,” she says, stretching his name into its very own continent, “I thought you were going to let it percolate a while," she reminds him. _Loki the ever-guilty_. Except he can’t really let himself get annoyed about that, because it’s exactly the kind of thing he _would_ do. Although he didn’t. Hasn’t.

"I was," he exclaims, meaning _percolating_. "I am. I did. He, uh, divulged this one all on his own."

“Well,” Dr. Riley says, and then she stops and shakes her head, laughing to herself. “That figures.”

Loki huffs. “Of course it does.”

“No, no,” she tells him. “I mean, yes, it _does_ figure that he wants to marry you. What I was thinking, though, was that it _figures_ that just when you were trying so hard to do the right thing – to be good, if you will - _Thor_ had to come along and step in it for you.”

He huffs again, because _humph_ , but then he can’t help but laugh along with her. It _is_ kind of ironic. He can’t help but wonder if things like this happen to other people. _Normal_ people.

“So,” she asks him after they both quiet down, “what did you tell him?”

That starts a fresh paroxysm of laughter. Loki’s ribs are starting to hurt. “That if he was lying, I would fucking kill him. I’m so mature. No pressure or anything.”

“And how did he react to that,” Dr. Riley asks him. She’s not laughing now. Between her and Sif, he knows, he has an army. Woe be it if Thor sticks so much as one toe out of line.

“Not like you’re thinking,” Loki tells her, “at least judging by the look on your face. He says he’s been- that he’s felt that way a long time. I was- surprised, I guess,” he admits. He was; it’s the kind of thing to which he can picture his brother agreeing on the spur of the moment, especially back when Thor was still not above stopping off at the bar and knocking back a few rounds, but Loki has never envisioned his brother harboring real, conscious desires like this. Never imagined Thor might be harboring these sorts of secrets.

~

They talk about the whole thing a bit more, as Dr. Riley tries to feel out how well he’s handling his brother’s Big Reveal. Considering he’s not sure himself, Loki thinks he does a pretty decent job of fielding her questions.

“What did you do afterwards,” she asks, finally.

He smiles. “The usual; we stopped off for takeout pierogies. And then I _think_ I could have tempted him into fucking,” he adds brightly, “but the cat got in the way.”

Dr. Riley laughs again. “You know,” she says, “I think I’m just fine with exactly that much explanation-.”

“-and not a word more,” Loki finishes for her. “I promise.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sif needs patching up, for once. Loki's patching skills look better on the outside.

He's not even sure where the whole thing went in the shitter, actually. One minute they were all joking casually enough about his underwear, or the lack thereof (and that part hadn't even been a lie; he _is_ wearing a thong... not a frilly, skimpy lace one but a soft, cozy man-thong that's cradling his nuts nicely and not making his crack sweat… and holy hell he really needs to _focus on Siffy_ and not on the state of his fucking butt crack, jesus) and the next Sif had been furious.

No, not furious, exactly; more like frustrated. Frustrated and deeply hurt.

And now she's shaking and soggy and he's the only one who seems to be doing anything about it.

Loki knows - it's hardly a secret, after all - that, thanks to his propensity for selfish, self-centered behavior and to his occasional (hah) inability to let empathy factor into his decision-making, he's often written off as cold and unfeeling.

It's hard to imagine anything being further from the truth.

Because oh, Loki feels things. He feels _everything_ ; his own emotions, logical and otherwise, and the ones he picks up like some weird fucking animate antenna from the people around him. It's overwhelming and he can't filter it and the only way to keep on existing sometimes is to shut it all down.

That's what he'd been doing tonight: scraping up all the feelings around weddings and relationships and love and caring and burying them under a veritable dung heap of teasing. Of prickly little jokes. The popularity of Loki’s sharp wit usually far exceeds that of his being the Black Hole of Feels. And tonight had been no exception, right up until he'd- broken Sif somehow? "I'm so sorry," he mumbles against the top of her head as she buries her face against his chest. "Whatever I did, I'm sorry."

"It's not you," she whispers back, in between the tears. "Sometimes it's simply not all about you. Sorry," she tacks on quickly, but for once he isn't upset. In some twisted way he feels _better_ hearing her say it. This time, anyway, and right now that’s what matters.

Loki thinks for a second and opts to take a page out of Sif's own book. "Talk to me," he suggests, giving her a tighter squeeze. "Let's go sit down, and then you should talk to me."

Steve and Thor both give them a wide berth as Sif - who's still sobbing, big wet gasps that seem far too loud to be coming from her compact body - lets Loki steer her towards the sofa with one long arm still thrown around her shaking shoulders. "Sit," he tells her gently when she stands frozen; he takes her by the hands instead and half pulls, half encourages her carefully down with him. "Now, when you're ready," he tries, because he has been on the other end of this so, so many times, "I'm here."

For several minutes they sit without speaking, so close together they’re practically still hugging. Sif's sobs gradually give way to wet snuffles. Loki traces the bones in her wrists with his thumbs and tries to concentrate on how she's the strong, selfless friend who has saved his sorry ass so many times.

To think of that - and channel the good feelings back into her through his own hands - rather than dwelling on how she'll always be the one who _had Thor first_. The one who had his brother's love, his brother's body, when everything about Thor was pure and unsullied.

Except it never was; way before Sif there was always Odin. Thor’s been sullied a long, long time.

Regardless, logic be damned, it's a grudge Loki bears the way he bears his own skin and bones and setting it down (even for a little while) is awfully complicated.

_Sif needs your support_ , he reminds himself, _not your fucked-up version of history_. He tightens his grip on her hands minutely, just to see if she'll squeeze back. She does.

"I'm being stupid," she rasps. "I know it, I know I am, but I can't stop."

"Join the club," Loki tells her. "It’s very exclusive but I think I can get you in; I know people. Seriously," he continues instead, since it's mostly his fucking _not funny_ -ness that got them here to start with, "is there anything I can do?"

"I _knew_ she was going to die," Sif goes on as if Loki hadn't spoken. That's okay, this time, because he’s here for her. "We run a goddamned _hospice_ program, after all; everyone dies." She snuffs. "That's the whole point. And yet I- I just can't stop thinking about it."

Loki gives Sif's hands another quick squeeze. "I know what you mean," he says, thinking back to Lila's body lying bloodied and utterly still in the twisted wreckage. Even after all this time, it’s _right there_ on the inside of his eyelids. "Sometimes it really hurts to lose somebody,” he tells her, with real feeling (the good kind, the sharing kind), “even when you can't make any sense of it at all."

He half expects her to argue, to get defensive and tell him he has no idea what he’s talking about – it’s what _he_ would do in the same situation, he’s certain – but she doesn’t. She just ducks to wipe her face on her own shoulder and then nods. “It’s still dumb,” she says at last, but she sounds a little less crushed.

“Maybe it is,” Loki agrees, “but that doesn’t make it feel any better.”

~

Sif gives Loki a wry, watery smile and stands, slowly. “I’m going to go rinse my face,” she says, turning to head towards the bathroom. “If the guys finish up in what they’re doing, let them know?”

“Sure.” He frowns at her retreating back, trying to concentrate on how sad she looks and not on how he’s not quite sure what she meant calling Thor and Steve “the guys,” almost as though he himself _isn’t_ one. They can bicker over semantics another time. “I’ll save your spot.”

~

Steve comes out of the kitchen – _the guys_ think there’s nothing that can’t be fixed with hot chocolate; Sif would of course agree, and even Loki isn’t sure he would argue – with a handful of coasters. “Thor sent me,” he tells Loki. “Something about rings on the table.”

Loki laughs. “Yeah,” he says, “he’s kind of anal about things like that.” He opts not to mention that, of the two of them, that sort of thing actually bugs him the most. Somehow being homeless has made him more sensitive to the way his (okay, it’s Thor’s, but he helped pick out a lot of it) furniture is treated rather than less so.

“Um,” Steve adds, setting one coaster neatly at each seat. “Thank you for taking care of Sif just now. You’re- you’re good with people, you know that?”

_Huh_. Loki is torn between _if you think so, you’re crazier than I am_ and _seriously, I suck at people so badly I could pull a golf ball through a garden hose_. It’s right about then he realizes they’re both blushing; his own face is burning hot, and Steve looks like the before picture in an advertisement for aloe vera.

“Uh,” he finally settles on instead, and dumb as it sounds it’s got to be better. “No problem.”

(Thankfully) right on cue, before Loki can make the mistake of elaborating and ruin what might be one of his better moments, in marches Thor with their cocoa. “Where’s Sif,” his brother asks, looking around with a worried expression.

“Washing up,” Loki says, just like he’s supposed to. He’s still feeling a little hot from the compliment, deserved or no. Thank every fucking baby jesus there ever was that no one can see inside his awful, messed-up head. “She’ll be back in a minute,” Loki tells both Steve and Thor as he reaches up for his mug. He smiles. It hurts, but only a little. “Sit. Please.”


End file.
